


Simple and Straightforward

by TrueIllusion



Series: Walking the Tightrope [1]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Cancer, Cancer Arc, Canon Compliant, Canon Related, Could Be Canon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gap Filler, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Justin Taylor (Queer as Folk)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-15 21:12:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15421701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrueIllusion/pseuds/TrueIllusion
Summary: This was the same, only different.This time, his filters were firmly in place, because Justin knew that kicking, punching, and destroying wasn’t going to fix this. It wasn’t going to take away the fact that his lover had cancer.





	Simple and Straightforward

There were plenty of times when Justin wanted desperately to kick something, punch a wall, or tear off on a path of destruction just to work off some of the stress and frustration he was feeling. It reminded him of the months immediately after the bashing - a time when he felt like all of his filters had gone completely missing and his emotions would run away with him before he had any idea what was going on or what he was doing. He'd find himself doing things like tearing apart his bedroom, throwing his mother into the bedpost, and ripping drawings off the wall - drawings he might never be able to reproduce. Spitting venomous, hate-filled words fueled by alcohol and drugs at a gobsmacked Brian who had just spent several thousand dollars on a state-of-the-art computer in an effort to help make it easier for Justin to do what he loved: creating art.

This was the same, only different.

This time, his filters were firmly in place, because Justin knew that kicking, punching, and destroying wasn't going to fix this. It wasn't going to take away the fact that his lover had cancer. It would only end up making Brian feel more guilty and bitter than it seemed he already did over what little bit he was allowing Justin to take care of him, and it would only make Justin feel worse for making him feel that way.

Instead, Justin tried to sit through art history class, even though his mind was anywhere except thinking about old paintings that hung in museums. He was preoccupied with wondering what Brian was doing. How Brian was feeling. Why the fuck he wouldn't just let Justin come with him to his radiation therapy appointments.

"I'll be fine," Brian had insisted. "I went to three whole treatments by myself before you ever came back to make me eat soup. I'm a big boy. I can manage myself."

Fine. So sue Justin for trying to be helpful - to lessen the burden of the mundane, everyday bullshit like driving back and forth from the oncologist's office.

When the class finally let out - thank god, because he had no idea what had been discussed anyhow and his notebook was mostly blank - Justin walked to the bus stop on the edge of campus to catch a ride back to the loft. He wasn't technically living there right now, but he kind of was, and he knew he would be as long as it looked like Brian needed him.

Of course, Brian would never admit that, so Justin would have to guess, and try to walk the tightrope of helping without being too helpful, of showing compassion without making Brian feel too vulnerable. That last one was the kicker - a formidable challenge even with a healthy Brian, much less the weak-and-ill-against-his-will version who should already be home in bed if Justin's calculations were correct.

Justin boarded the bus, found a seat, and sighed as he leaned his head against the window. He really hoped today wouldn't be one of the days that Brian would try to push through an afternoon meeting at Kinnetik. He pulled his cell phone out of his messenger bag and looked at the small display on the outside - no missed calls from Ted, so that was a good sign.

He let his eyes drift closed for a few minutes, lulled by the soft rocking motion of the bus as it ambled through the city streets. He was so tired that he barely reopened them in time to pull the cord for the stop at the corner of Fuller and Tremont.

The night before had been a long one - Brian had some kind of a nightmare and Justin woke up around 2 a.m. to his partner growling something unintelligible in his sleep before shoving Justin roughly in the shoulder. Then he woke up again at 4 a.m., this time to a conscious Brian grunting with pain as he tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position. Justin knew that every part of Brian's body ached, so even though he was annoyed with the lack of sleep, he had simply reached over to gently wrap an arm around Brian's chest and pull their bodies closer together, in a simple gesture of comfort. Brian didn't pull away.

Justin was too tired to climb the stairs, so he patiently waited for the elevator to hum its way to the top floor, shifting his messenger bag, which was heavy with textbooks, on his shoulder and trying to think of what he was going to do for his final project in art history class. He probably would have more of an idea had he been paying attention in class.

After the elevator slowed to a stop, Justin pushed up the gate and stepped out. He could hear some smooth jazz playing from inside the loft, which usually meant Brian was smoking pot in the living room. He'd been smoking a lot more lately, because it helped with the nausea.

As Justin pulled the metal door back, he spotted Brian exactly where he thought he would be - laying on his back atop one of the large cushions on the floor, taking a drag from a joint that looked like it was almost done for.

"Hey, Sunshine." Brian didn't turn his head, and continued gazing up at the rafters as he blew smoke rings into the air.

"Hey," Justin said softly, smiling as he set his bag down on the floor with a soft thump and made his way across the loft to where Brian was. Justin joined him on the floor and Brian offered him the last of the joint, which he didn't take. Brian needed it more than he did.

"Suit yourself...it's good shit."

"I'm sure it is. How are you feeling?"

"Better, now."

"Good. How was work?"

Brian shrugged noncommittally as he exhaled the last of the smoke, which probably meant he'd spent the few hours he was there either half asleep on the sofa in his office, or holed up in his private bathroom, vomiting. Those were the days Justin wished Brian would just come home after his treatment, and stop trying to act like nothing out of the ordinary was going on.

So he was a little surprised when Brian followed the exhalation with, "I didn't go in today."

"What? Why didn't you call me? I could have come home." Justin knew Brian must have been feeling really terrible if he didn't even try to push through making his obligatory appearance at the office, and he felt terrible for having not been here when Brian needed him.

Brian turned his head toward Justin and gave him an incredulous look. "You had class. It would be irresponsible of me to just pull you out…"

"Not that crap again," Justin sighed.

"What? I'm paying for your education. I don't want you skipping class on my account. I was fine. I am fine. I don't need you to play nursemaid 24 hours a day."

Justin decided not to argue, but made a mental note that he would call Ted around 10:00 tomorrow morning to see if Brian had made it into work. He laid back on the cushion beside his partner and let his eyes drift closed again. The older man wrapped an arm around Justin's shoulders and threw his left leg over Justin's right, and they lay there together, tangled in each other's limbs, for a while. It was long enough for Justin to be carried into a deep enough sleep that he felt disoriented for a few seconds when Brian withdrew his arm from behind Justin and limped off in the direction of the bathroom.

Justin could hear Brian retching and spitting from across the loft and over the music, but he knew better than to try to follow him. Brian was nothing if not a proud man, who really didn't want an audience for the most undignified part of the side effects of cancer treatment. So Justin stayed put in the living room, staring at the ceiling as he considered the seriousness of the situation in which they currently found themselves. What if the treatment didn't work? What if the cancer had already spread and they just didn't know it yet? What if it came back next month, or next year? What if Brian was in the unlucky 1% who didn't survive this supposedly simple and straightforward type of cancer. Since when was cancer simple or straightforward anyhow?

He heard the toilet flush, and the water in the sink run, and a few seconds later, Brian slowly descended the steps from the bedroom, his hand on the door frame to steady himself. He continued into the kitchen, where he opened the fridge and took out two bottles of water. He held one out toward Justin in a silent gesture asking if he wanted one as well. Justin shook his head and closed his eyes again.

"You hungry?" Brian asked him as he sat down cross-legged on the floor next to him. "Obviously I'm not, but I could order you something if you want."

Justin lifted his head and blinked at Brian. "Shouldn't I be the one taking care of you?"

Brian gave Justin a warning look and set his water down on a coaster on the coffee table. "Not if you know what's good for you."

The younger man decided to let that drop and change the subject. "Actually, I'm really tired. I think I might just go to bed."

"It's 5:00." Brian raised an eyebrow

"Don't care," Justin mumbled as he pushed himself up off the floor and started toward the bedroom. "You coming?"

"Are you trying to seduce me?"

"No," Justin laughed. "Unless of course you want to be."

Brian gave Justin a look that was somewhere between pained and embarrassed. "I don't think I could get it up anyway. Everything's fried down there. But I could perhaps be talked into giving you a little something…" he grinned as he got up to follow Justin to bed.

They both stayed mostly asleep until the alarm sounded at 7 a.m. the next morning, save for a couple of interludes of nausea in the wee hours of the morning. That was unusual - most of the time, Brian was through with that by bedtime. Usually, their primary nighttime battles centered around insomnia, nightmares, and Brian waking up burning hot and drenched in sweat or freezing cold and shivering.

"Morning," Justin said softly as he leaned over to switch off the alarm before turning back to kiss Brian gently and brush a slightly damp lock of hair back from his forehead.

Brian grunted as he rolled onto his side to face Justin, pulling him into an embrace.

They stayed quiet for about a minute, just breathing together, holding each other, before Brian released Justin and sighed as he rolled onto his back.

"What?" Justin propped his head up on his hand as he studied Brian's face. He could tell the man had something he wanted to say, but seemed to be unsure of how to say it in a way that would allow him to keep up his facade - the "Brian Fucking Kinney is a self-made man who can handle anything life throws at him and doesn't need a damn thing from anybody" facade.

Brian closed his eyes and let silence reign for several seconds before he turned his head toward the younger man and quietly said, "Will you go with me today?"

Two hours later, as he shifted his weight in an uncomfortable plastic chair in the waiting room of the oncologist's office, Justin fought with conflicting feelings inside his head - relief that Brian was finally letting him take over the duties of transporting him back and forth to treatment, at least for today, and worry about why Brian suddenly wanted him to do that in the first place, after insisting so vehemently over the past few days that he could "do it his own damn self." He was also worried about the seemingly inevitable explosion of anger and petulant mutterings that were likely to come from Brian later today, after he realized how all of this looked and decided he need to save face for some reason.

Brian had barely said a word to Justin after asking him to come here today. The ride over had been a mostly silent one, save for Brian's frequent complaints that Justin didn't know how to properly drive a stick shift, at which Justin had simply rolled his eyes and said nothing. He knew Brian likely just needed something to grouse about to distract himself - to make sure Justin didn't get too complacent in thinking that Brian actually appreciated his help or would ever outwardly admit that.

Over the past couple of weeks, Justin had grown used to that - the small barbs Brian threw at him, usually about inconsequential shit, seemingly to make himself feel like he was the one in control here. Justin also knew Brian well enough to know what that really meant - that his partner was feeling out-of-control and vulnerable. The barbs were fired over the walls that were beginning to fail. But Justin had to pretend he didn't notice that, and it was just as difficult to do that as it had been to not acknowledge that he knew about the cancer at all, back when it was all still some big secret and Brian had supposedly gone on vacation to sunny Spain but came back pale, exhausted, and in obvious pain, with dark circles under his eyes.

Justin was flipping idly through a well-worn magazine when the door to the waiting room opened and Brian walked through it, barely glancing toward Justin as he nodded his head toward the double doors at the building's entrance as if to silently beckon Justin to follow. Justin eyed Brian warily as he rose from the chair and walked to the door, staying a few steps behind, not quite sure what the older man's mood was at this moment, and having no past experience to draw on since this was the first time Brian had allowed him to be around immediately after the radiation treatment.

When they got to the car, Justin unlocked it and Brian climbed in slowly, wordlessly, then sank down into the passenger seat. Justin started the car and drove toward the loft, stealing furtive glances at Brian every so often. Most of the time, the older man's eyes were closed, and the fingers of his right hand were pinching the bridge of his nose. Brian didn't make any comments about Justin's driving on the way home.

The first place Brian went when they arrived back at the loft was the bathroom. In fact, he'd practically run in there as soon as Justin got the door open. Justin gave him his privacy at first. The noises coming from the bathroom were of the usual variety, so Justin sat out in the living room, trying to distract himself with his sketchbook. Eventually, the noises stopped. Justin kept sketching, and the light scratching of his pencil against the paper was the only audible sound in the loft for more than 15 minutes before Justin muttered to himself, "Fuck this," and decided that he was going in there, Brian's reaction be damned.

Justin climbed the three steps to the bedroom, then took three more strides to the frosted glass sliding door that divided the bathroom from the bedroom. He paused for a moment, his hand on the door, listening. All he could hear was silence on the other side. Taking a deep breath and steeling his resolve, Justin slid the door open slowly and looked in.

His gaze settled on Brian sitting on the floor next to the shower, knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped around them, and the side of his face pressed against the shower door, as if he was relishing its cool quality against his reddened cheek. His eyes were closed, and his white T-shirt clung to him, wet with perspiration, as his chest rose and fell with deep, heavy breaths.

"Brian," Justin said softly as he knelt next to his partner and gently laid a hand on his shoulder.

The older man apparently hadn't noticed Justin had even entered the room, and startled at the touch, opening his eyes and raising his gaze to meet Justin's. Hazel met baby blue with a look Justin couldn't quite read - he wasn't sure if it was humiliation or hurt.

"Are you okay?" Justin wasn't sure how to address this version of Brian, so he settled for that.

Brian just looked at him, his expression unreadable, his eyes twitching just slightly as he stared directly into Justin's - one and then the other, over and over, almost as if he was searching for something there.

"How can I help?" It was simple. Straightforward. Justin didn't know what the fuck to do here. How to navigate this situation without transforming his partner from the softer, slightly exposed version that currently sat before him into the sardonic, indignant version that had been so prevalent over the past few weeks, particularly any time Justin tried to help Brian through what seemed to be a tough moment. He needed Brian to tell him what to do here. How to react.

Brian tilted his chin downward and looked at the floor, his shoulders slumping forward as he exhaled, as if he was collapsing in on himself.

When Brian looked up again, Justin could see that his eyes were shining with unshed tears.

"Just be here," he said simply, his voice almost a whisper as he reached for Justin's hand and grasped it, hard, as if clinging to a lifeline.

Justin reached out and wrapped his lover into a tight embrace, as a tear escaped from one of his own eyes. He let out a shaky breath as he pulled Brian closer, gripping him like he never wanted to let him go, as if Justin depended on Brian for his own life - his own breath. And he guessed in a way, he did. They both did, in their own ways.

The words were spoken quietly, but they echoed in Justin's head and in his heart.

"Just be here."

**Author's Note:**

> It was a struggle to feel like I was keeping Brian in character here while writing the story I wanted to write, particularly for the part in the canon where we are this moment in the series. I hope I pulled it off.


End file.
